Flares
by MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: Consumed with guilt after Fred's death, Percy finds solace in the arms of Marcus Flint. But after some time, their relationship takes a turn for the worse. Percy is trying desperately to hold on to the one thing that makes sense in his life, but it may not be Marcus who can give him what he needs. Warnings for an abusive relationship, language, self-worth issues, slight violence


**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Prompts are below :)**

**Elemental Magic Task 3: Write about someone getting burnt (figuratively or literally)**

**Word Count: 3822**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

**WARNINGS: Abusive relationship, language, slight violence, self-worth issues.**

**Enjoy!**

Percy's muscles were tense as he slept, and his eyes were screwed tightly shut. Sweat dampened his brow and his breathing hitched, but he didn't cry out. He never cried out, not when the fist was being raised or when it came crashing down—

Percy's blue eyes flew open. He was almost paralyzed with fear, an emotion he was no stranger to, but he managed to calm himself slightly as his senses came back to him. He was in his bedroom. It was early Tuesday morning. He'd been dreaming.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Marcus sleeping soundly beside him, dark hair falling over his brow. Percy sighed in relief. The last thing he needed was to wake the other man. He carefully peeled the duvet off of his sweat-dampened body and began to slip out from under Marcus' arm.

He froze when he felt fingers tighten around his thigh, one bare foot on the freezing ground.

"What are you doing?" Marcus' voice was thick with sleep, but Percy still felt a thrill of fear wash through him.

He blinked at his lover's blurry face, wishing he had his glasses on; they made him feel less vulnerable. "I was just going to get some water," he answered carefully.

The Quidditch player shook his head, tugging at the end of Percy's shirt. "Come back to bed. Drink something in the morning."

Percy frowned, but he eased himself back to bed, into the arms of the object of his nightmares. Marcus pulled him close and kissed the spot where Percy's neck and shoulder met. Percy arched his back slightly, eyes fluttering closed. He listened as Marcus' breathing slowed, then wondered how it was possible to both love and fear someone so much.

* * *

When Percy arrived home the next evening, he was surprised to see that Marcus was back early. He swallowed. If practice had ended early, then his lover would be in a bad mood. He walked quickly inside, knowing that it was best to face the problem headon.

He shut the door behind him. "You're home early."

Marcus looked up from his newspaper, grunting in response. "I'm surprised you noticed, with your vision. Those glasses must do a lot."

Percy stilled, his bag hovering a few inches above the floor. He closed his eyes and sighed warily. "That's not funny."

Marcus folded up his newspaper. "Aww, don't be like that. It was just a joke." The Slytherin patted the spot next to him on the loveseat. "Come here."

Percy hung up his cloak on the rack and walked over, still a bit hesitant. These slights hadn't been present in the first few months of their relationship, but they seemed to be increasing in frequency. It didn't do much for Percy's confidence, fractured as it was due to his mistakes during the war. Still, Marcus was the one who'd made him feel that it was still possible to be loved—like he _deserved_ to be loved. Percy hadn't shown his face at home much ever since… well, ever since Fred died.

There was a part of him that called himself a murderer. He'd distracted his brother, he hadn't jumped in to save him—it was his fault. But then Marcus swooped in, offering the love and distraction from his guilt that Percy had needed. It was the thought of the man who had saved him that made Percy sit beside him on the loveseat, not the man who had invited him over.

He lowered himself beside the other man, ready to leave if any insults were thrown his way. He may depend on Marcus for a lot of things, but he wasn't going to just sit there and take verbal abuse. If things turned ugly, he'd walk away and wait for Marcus to apologize in the morning, like he always did.

His boyfriend pulled him up against himself once he was seated, then gently lifted Percy's leg and placed it in his lap. He pulled off Percy's shoe and sock, then pushed his trouser up to his knee and began massaging his calf. Percy hummed, relaxing as Marcus' nimble fingers worked the sore muscles.

"I'm really sorry," Marcus told him. "It was a bad day at practice. Wasn't fair of me to say that to you."

"That's all right," Percy murmured, giving in. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

"Of course," Marcus agreed, like he always did. When he left an hour later to pick up dinner, Percy was left wondering how long it would be until he broke his promise again.

* * *

The next few months were harder. Everything Percy did seemed to set Marcus off, and sharing a bed with the Quidditch player almost always turned into love rough enough to leave Percy with bruises he didn't want. But if he tried to spend the night somewhere else, he quickly learned, he got the bruises in a completely different way upon his return.

Sometimes he wondered if it was safer to just… not go back. But then he thought about all the wrongs he'd done his family, and he knew that he couldn't go back to them. At least with Marcus there was someone to hold him at night, to love him.

Percy had always been excellent at convincing himself he was doing the right thing, and right now he was positive Marcus was his only option.

He was still thinking about this when he arrived at the flat. He leaned his head against the charcoal grey door for a moment, his exhaustion taking over for a moment. But then he gathered up his courage and walked through, dropping his bag and hanging up his cloak.

"You look like death."

Percy jumped—that wasn't Marcus' voice. He whipped around, blue eyes falling on the head in his fireplace.

Percy let out a strangled sound. "George? How did you—"

"Find you? It wasn't easy, I'll tell you that. Where the bloody hell have you been?"

Percy looked away. "Working," he said stiffly, adjusting his glasses.

George's face was turning crimson with rage. "You have to be joking. Working is still more important than family to you? After everything we've been through?"

Percy winced. "That's not what I… Listen, you should go. Marcus will be home soon, and he won't want to see you."

"Marcus? Marcus who?" George asked. Then his brown eyes seemed to light up in understanding. "You don't mean Flint, do you? Why the hell are you living with Flint?"

Percy crossed his arms and glared down at his younger brother. "Because I want to. Now leave, I mean it."

"No," George told him stubbornly. "I've spent months trying to get in contact with you. Mum is out of her mind worrying, Dad can't get in touch with you at work, Bill and Fleur need help moving in, Ron is making a mess of himself, Ginny is snapping at everyone, Charlie's out of the country still, and I—I can't believe you came to the funeral and then left without a trace."

Those brown eyes seemed to burn through Percy's soul, just adding to the furnace that was his life. His guilt, his dying love, now the anger of his family—he couldn't keep up with it all.

"I can't go back right now. I'm needed here." He tried to make his words dismissive, but he could hear his voice trembling slightly. Judging by George's frown, he'd heard, too.

"Percy… is everything okay?" George asked hesitantly. His anger was quickly being replaced by worry, which wasn't an emotion Percy often saw on the other man's face. "You seem nervous. Oliver didn't say anything was wrong."

Percy frowned. "Oliver? What does he have to do with anything?"

"He's the one who told me where I could find you. Said he'd heard you were at this address. He didn't mention Flint."

"Oh." Percy hadn't thought about Oliver in years. Well, that wasn't strictly true—he hadn't thought that Oliver was thinking about him. What they'd had in school had been wonderful, until it had all come crashing down when they realized their prospective jobs would make it too difficult to stay in contact.

He lowered himself onto the ground, wincing slightly when pressure was added to some of his bruises. He began undoing his tie as he leaned towards his brother's head, but not close enough to touch the green flames. "How is he? I haven't spoken to him since… the battle, I suppose."

George sighed impatiently. "He's fine. Big in Quidditch, like he wanted. What about you? Why haven't we seen you?"

Percy shrugged. "I just need some time."

George scowled. "You've had your time. This isn't fair to the rest of us!"

"No, what you're asking isn't fair to me!" Percy snapped. "Don't be so selfish, dammit! Just _leave me alone_!"

Before George could respond, the door flew open. Marcus stormed in, a scowl on his face and his hair in disarray. His dark eyes locked on to Percy hunched over on the floor, then on George in the fireplace.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

Percy stilled, his voice turning carefully neutral. "I'm speaking with my brother. Where have you been? I thought you'd be home an hour ago."

Marcus ignored him. "Come here."

Percy got slowly to his feet, body aching. He approached his lover cautiously, but didn't resist when Marcus took him in his arms. His face grew hot when he caught sight of George's gaping face—he'd never revealed to his family the other side of his sexual attraction. Not because he was ashamed of it, but because no man had ever meant quite enough to him to bring him home.

Percy pulled away after a second. "Is that—have you been drinking?" He peered at the other man more closely, and felt his blood freeze. He reached forward and rubbed some red lipstick off of Marcus' mouth. "Who have you been with?"

"'S none of your business."

Indignation flared up in Percy's chest, effectively covering up his hurt—at least temporarily. "Yes, it _is_ my bloody business! I'm your boyfriend, you can't just go kiss whoever you fancy—"

Marcus' eyes darkened. "You can't tell me what to do."

Tears stung Percy's eyes. He balled his fists. "If it's about this, I can!" he shouted. "If you didn't want this anymore, then you should have come to talk about it, not sneak off behind my back!" A horrible thought struck him, and he felt the strength leave his body. "Do—do you want to do this?"

The thought of losing Marcus made him feel sick. Yes, things had been falling apart lately, but Percy had believed that they could work it out. He _wanted_ them to work it out. He couldn't lose the one thing that in his life that wasn't in ruins. And things had been _good_—at least at the beginning.

Then it struck him. He was being selfish again. He needed Marcus so badly he never considered that the other man didn't need him—maybe he never had. He'd poisoned this relationship, just like he'd done during the war to his family. This was his fault, unless, miraculously, Marcus told him—

"Yes! But you're being so damn—damn—"

"What?" Percy demanded, with a little less heat than before; he was quickly losing confidence.

Marcus threw his hands up in the air, and Percy wrinkled his nose at the smell he gave off. "Bossy! It was just a bit of fun down there, can't you understand that?"

"I'm allowed to be upset," Percy insisted softly. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to believe it was true. "We didn't discuss this—"

"_Just shut up, for fuck's sake!_"

Pain exploded in Percy's jaw as Marcus' fist connected, his head snapping up. He went staggering backwards, only just able to catch himself against the wall. He stared up in shock at the other man, half sprawled on the ground. He distantly heard George's shout of alarm before his brother pulled his head out of the fire—presumably to get help—but all he could focus on was the pain.

Marcus was breathing heavily, but there wasn't any regret in his eyes. He dropped to his knees before Percy and crawled forward until he was over him like some absurd show of dominance. He then captured Percy's lips in a searing kiss that moved Percy's jaw in all the wrong ways, making him gasp and flinch.

"You're mine," Marcus growled. "But I'm not yours."

Percy shoved him back and leaned away, but Marcus was stronger. "Stop it," Percy snapped as Marcus continued to kiss him. "_Stop._"

A cruel, wicked grin spread over Marcus' face. "Ah, but you don't really want me to, do you? You need someone to love you. And I can give that to you."

Percy turned his face away. "That's not what this is," he whispered. But he felt so small, like the scum of the earth, because that was exactly what he had been calling it all these months.

He was _pathetic_. And worse, Marcus knew it.

"Come to bed," he commanded, lips hot on Percy's skin.

Percy froze. "No."

Black eyes snapped up to blue. "I _said—_"

"I know what you said," Percy said harshly. "And I'm saying no."

He slammed his elbow into Marcus' face, scrambling away when the other man lurched back in surprise and pain. Marcus was stronger, but Percy had enough brothers to know how to play dirty. He ran out of the flat and Disapparated as soon as he was outside the building—angry, stunned, and hurt.

* * *

It took him a moment to realize where he was. It was an park he used to play at when he was young, before even his Hogwarts years. He remembered climbing the huge, twisted trees with Charlie and Bill, hiding from their parents and laughing when the twins pouted because they couldn't reach the highest branches.

Now he was climbing one alone, and tucked himself into a spot where he couldn't be seen from the ground. Finally alone, Percy let his walls crumble. He shook as he sobbed, but his gasps were almost inaudible. He grieved in privacy and silence; it was the only way he knew how.

It was a long time later before anyone found him.

"Hey." The accent was thick and familiar, but Percy didn't look up; he was too ashamed to be caught at such a low point.

"Percy," Oliver Wood pressed. "Look at me, please."

Percy didn't move, but he did speak. "How'd you find me?"

Oliver sighed. "You mentioned this place, once. It's childhood comforts like this that people tend to Apparate to in a pinch, and I'll admit this was my fifth stop, but I found you, didn't I? Now. What the bloody hell happened back there?"

Percy kept himself turned away from his old… friend. "George said you gave him my address. How did you know it?"

Oliver sounded confused. "Flint mentioned you once, at a match. I asked how he'd seen you, and he mentioned the flat. He didn't say he was living in it, though."

Percy's voice was small. "Oh."

There was a short silence where Oliver waited for him to say something else, but Percy couldn't find the words. He felt so cold and stupid… and he didn't want Oliver to know that. But the Quidditch player wasn't going away, which should have been comforting, but it wasn't.

"George was going mental," Oliver said softly at last. "He contacted me, told me that Flint had been threatening you but that when he arrived at the flat with your dad and Bill, you were gone. Everyone's worried about you."

Percy groaned. "I'm fine. You can tell them that."

Oliver snorted. "Like hell I will. You haven't even looked at me since I got here; I know something's wrong."

Slowly, Percy raised his head, his tired eyes resting on Oliver's nose because he couldn't bring himself to meet the other man's eyes.

Oliver sucked in a breath. "Shit… Did Flint do this? I'll kill him, I swear I will," Oliver growled, fingers hovering over the bruise on Percy's face.

Percy winced. "I liked him," he admitted weakly. "I thought he liked me." He thought of how possessively Marcus had treated him before he left and shivered with disgust.

Oliver put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "He's a bastard and never deserved you," he said vehemently. His brown eyes softened slightly. "Let's go find your brothers, yeah? Then—"

"I don't want to see them," Percy interrupted. "I haven't seen them since… since the funeral… and I don't want to see them now."

Oliver blinked. "Why not?"

Percy looked away. "It's… it's my fault, what happened to Fred," he admitted, horrified. "How am I supposed to face them knowing that?"

"Percy Weasley," Oliver said angrily. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Did Flint—"

"No," Percy snapped. "He's the one who didn't make me feel like I'd mucked the rest of my life up after the war. Like I was still redeemable." He clenched his hands into fists.

Oliver slid closer to him on the branch. "Fred's death isn't your fault, Percy," he said seriously. "It was terrible, what happened to him… he was too young."

Percy looked over and saw tears in Oliver's eyes, then winced when he remembered that Oliver had played Quidditch with Fred for years before his death.

"He was a bloody good Beater," Oliver continued with pride. "Funny. People liked him." His eyes slid over to Percy. "He died a hero, protecting the people he cared about. He didn't die a throwaway victim of war because his brother couldn't save him."

Percy felt like he was holding on to every one of Oliver's words. He'd never thought of it like that before, and there was a tiny voice in his head that was agreeing with what the other man had said. "You mean that, right? You're not just saying it?"

"I promise you, I mean it," Oliver told him. He ran a hand through his brown hair. "Now. Marcus."

Percy adjusted his glasses, stalling. "I dunno. We didn't like each other at school, but not because of anything personal. I thought it could work. He was nice at first, and I guess I needed that. We've been together for nearly a year, you know." Percy ran his hand over his face, wincing when he touched his injury. "I thought this was just a bump in the road," he finished miserably.

Oliver leaned back, blowing his brown hair out of his eyes and swinging his feet like a kid. "It's a shitty situation. But I swear, Percy, I won't let that bastard anywhere near you again."

Percy bristled. "I don't need your _protection_. I can take care of myself; I don't need anyone to assist me with that."

Oliver had, of course, just seen evidence of the contrary, but he didn't call Percy out on it.

"That's not what I meant!" Oliver said hurriedly. "Just that—you're not alone anymore, okay? You don't need him anymore. You've got me."

Some of the tension left Percy's shoulders as he considered this. Finally, he offered Oliver a small, tired smile. "Thank you."

Oliver nodded and clapped him on the back. "Come on. Your family is worried sick."

Percy bit his lip. "I'm not sure I should—"

"I'll go with you," Oliver offered. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

"Okay," Percy agreed after a moment. "Okay."

He climbed down the tree after Oliver, shaken but feeling a little more prepared to break ties with Marcus—and maybe restore his ties with his family at long last.

* * *

A year later, Percy was cheering on Puddlemere United, heart bursting with pride as he watched Oliver nimbly catch the Quaffle and throw it to one of the Chasers. He was a brilliant Keeper—always had been, always would be. It was intoxicating to witness, and Percy felt a slight fluttering in his chest that had been present for the past two months whenever Oliver was around. His face burned with the pleasure of it, which he hoped could be passed off as a side effect of the heat. The temperature was warming up, and with it, Percy's life was looking better than ever before. There were new beginnings to be had, he thought as he saw Puddlemere score. He wanted to be there for every one of them.

He hurried out of the stands when the match ended, running over to his friend. Oliver was beaming proudly, congratulating his teammates loudly and hugging nearly everyone else. When Percy reached him, Oliver swept him up in his arms. He reeked of sweat and heat, but Percy found he didn't mind.

"We won!" Oliver bellowed. "Merlin, I can't believe we did it!"

Percy laughed. "You were brilliant!"

"Thanks." Oliver grinned broadly, then tugged Percy over to the sidelines, where they could have a bit more privacy. "I think this calls for a celebration, don't you? Fancy a drink tonight?"

"Sure," Percy agreed eagerly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but fell silent when he heard raucous laughter coming from his right. He turned around to see Marcus Flint with some man Percy didn't recognize tucked under his arm, pointing in his direction with a sneer on his face.

Percy looked away quickly, face burning with shame. Marcus was still a sore spot for him, and though he was over the Slytherin, it was hard to completely connect the man who'd welcomed him with the man he saw now. He looked over at Oliver and noticed that he, judging by the scowl on his face, had seen too.

Oliver walked over and sat beside Percy on the bench. "Ignore him. He's just sore because he lost." Oliver wrapped an arm around Percy's shoulders and pulled him closer, sighing. "Why am I the only one who sees you're beautiful?" he murmured.

Percy's eyes snapped over to him in surprise. "What did you say?"

Oliver's eyes were wide, and he spluttered as he tried to find an excuse. "Well—you know I've always thought that, we _did_ date for a bit after all… And just because we broke up doesn't mean I've stopped finding you attractive—"

Percy grabbed his hand to silence him. "Would you do it again?" he asked.

Oliver frowned. "What? Date you?"

Percy swallowed. "Yeah."

Oliver cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "If you'll have me," he admitted, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Heart thumping, Percy leaned forward and pressed his lips to Oliver's. His blood was racing through his veins; this was the first time he'd done this since the disaster that was Marcus, and he was fucking _scared. _But Oliver was everything that Flint had never been—gentle but passionate, full of love and care. He felt like home.

Wrapped up in Oliver's arms, happy at last, Percy realized that home was exactly where he was.

**Writing Club:**

**Assorted Appreciation: 8. Ginny Weasley — Write about a professional Quidditch player**

**Disney Challenge: Themes 4. Write about someone feeling they're better or worse than someone else. **

**Book Club: Patrick — (action) running, (character) Oliver Wood, (word) dismissive**

**Showtime: 11. Ring of Keys — (dialogue) "Why am I the only one who sees you're beautiful?"**

**Amber's Attic: 10. Ching Shih — Write about someone merciless**

**Love in Motion: Trio — OliverPercy**

**Em's Emporium: 3. Write about the lowest point of something**

**Liza's Lodes: 4. Write about someone having a dream or nightmare**

**Angel's Arcade: 9. Midna — (word) assist, (color) charcoal grey, (action) hitting something/someone**

**Bex's Basement: 4. Jeffrey Dahmer — Write about Fred and/or George Weasley**

**Alphabetti Spaghetti: Slytherin**

**Fortnightly Challenge: **

**Women's History: 5. Dolores Umbridge — alt. Write about someone who likes to be in control**

**Cabin Fever: Signs: 5. Alt. Write about someone in the winter of their life**

**Insane House Challenge: 280. (pairing) OliverPercy**


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